Disperse - Kageyama x Reader (Fluff + Angst)

Chapter 6: Kawaii-yama

You relish the breeze underneath shade of the giant oak alongside Kageyama with your sketchbook rested upon your lap.

"It's so nice... I missed going outside when we were little."

"Yeah."

Kageyama leans his head against your shoulder. It is quiet, but silence is often a form of art. You quickly finish your sketch and finally take out your inking pens.

"Kags? Look, what do you think? "

You hold the sketch in front of him, but he doesn't reply. You smile contently at his sleeping form, softly snoring, and add a small note to the picture before inking the line art. Your hands move swiftly as you gently stroke the page with the permanence of ink.

"Tobio, come on. It's time to wake up," you gently nudge him awake.

"Hnnnn, 5 more minutes."

"I already gave you fifteen minutes."

He responds with quiet snores and a puddle of drool spilling onto your shirt. You sigh, stroking his head softly, and contently grin to yourself. He is beautiful, an art portrayed in your sketchbook.

Time Skip

"Ashbfkalqnans, you're too adorable, Kawaii-yama!" you gawk at the sight of his rare vulnerability, a (chibi) Kageyama clad in an adorable, pink plaid apron.

"I'm not adorable!" he huffs, an irk mark appearing near the side of his forehead as he crosses his arms. "Hmph. Why do I even have to where this?"

"So you don't get messy. Besides, baking is more fun than eating at a bakery and you look cute!"

"Am not."

"Yes you are- TOBIO KAGEYAMA YOU SON OF A-"

A flour bomb detonates on your face, white powder dusted on your clothes and hair as well. Pissed off, you seize the nearest entity, which conveniently happens to be a spatula, though before you could attack, Kageyama spikes an egg onto your chest.

"Well you should have worn an apron, (Y/N)."

You hiss menacingly - in which only Suguru could comprehend - and tackle him to the ground in spite of his physique.

"Hey-"

Your faces near inches apart as the impulse to whack Kageyama with the spatula dissipates when the sudden realization of your proximity flusters you. The urge to near the inches between your and his lips is dominating, an independent, foreign force subjugating your rationale, as his navy blue eyes meets yours. His breaths are enticing but you suppress the newly found infatuation.

"I'm sorry!" you screech and scurry away from him.

"B-boke!"